Handkerchiefs
by birdywings
Summary: Blood, curses, insults, tears, and handkerchiefs - basically your typical Snowbaz oneshot of a scene that was mentioned in Carry On but wasn't elaborated on. So therefore, I just had to write it. Please read and review!


**Hey all you Simon and Baz fans out there! So I'm just over halfway through Carry On, (for those of you who don't know it is now an actual book that Rainbow got published on October 6th), and it is SO good. So there was a scene mentioned, (but not elaborated on), in the book where Baz makes Simon cry for the first time during their first year at Watford and I just had to write it. So without further ado please enjoy this Snowbaz oneshot!**

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Handkerchiefs

He could hear his footsteps pounding up the stairs through the door and knew who's feet they were even before the door swung open with a swift flourish of his wand. Simon didn't even flinch, much less glance behind him to watch the sly sneer curl in Baz's lip when he brushed his dark tresses behind his ear, which were matted and dripped with sweat from football practice. He spelled them dry and lay on his bed with his arms folded under his head.

Simon was quiet from his side of the room and wouldn't even squeeze one last snarky retort in to finish off the day. (He was probably still stewing in the 'little accident' he'd caused during their Magic Words lesson that afternoon.) Once again Snow demonstrated the extent of his incompetence with words, (and not to mention magic itself), by reciting the simple spell of **_lights out_** to cast out the candles Miss Possibelf was having them practice on but managed to instead shatter every lightbulb in the classroom.

The damage was colossal in the extreme; windows were cracked, desks were overturned in the ruckus, papers were shredded, and sparks flew like fireworks and even singed a few students' heads but turned out to be only flesh wounds, (thank God). Class was canceled for the remaining fort-five minutes along with every other Magic Words lesson scheduled for the rest of the day until the fire set by the sparks could be extinguished, (which was a task Snow couldn't even have made easy as the flames only seemed to intensify with his hardening expression and only goes to show you that bombs didn't belong where they could go off any moment, especially nuclear ones).

But now he sat quietly on the edge of his bed with his back to his roomate's side of the room. Baz sat up, unable to tolerate the silence any londer, (which was almost just unbearable as listening to that lousy good-for-nothing git's inusfferable whining about the responsibility of his grand destiny day and night), and snatched Simon's wand from where he threw it on the floor in the tantrum he undoubtedly had when he came up here.

"If you're intending to sulk all day Snow then I will kindly ask you to go do so elsewhere where I won't have to be nauseated by your face," Baz said, almost bored by his own words, and shoved Simon's wand back into his clenched fists. "And also to treat a magician's instrument with respect because I'll be damned if you accidentally set fire to this room because of your negligence."

He didn't respond or even bat an eyelash from Baz's retort. He only stared blankly ahead through his even blanker blue eyes, which were barely half open and practically dead inside, and let his wand roll from his hands and to the floor.

"Come on Snow," Baz snorted, (literally). "You're not supposed to be the maker of your misery - that's my job! How else am I supposed to endure the next seven years with you as my roomate?"

"You'll just have to find a new one because I'm not coming back." He said, lying back on his bed over the covers and rolling onto his side.

"Well, at least I know your stupidity hasn't affected your ability to speak - just your inability to cast year one spells." He scoffed, (because everything Baz said to Simon was either with a sneer or a snort or a scoff or even just with just his spit).

He said nothing in return, and there was nothing else Baz could offer in return. He despised human emotion at the best of times, which was why he so rarely felt nothing; at least on the outside. After all, he would rather be burnt at a stake then let someone as self-absorbed and dim-witted as Snow see how widely he was affected and how deeply he was scarred from that night - however vaguely he remembered it. It was still fresh in the memory of his five-year-old self and came alive when the lights were out. And no one, not even that meddling roomate of his, could know the truth of what Baz remembered from that night; the night that left him with two scars he carefully hid with his dark hair and scarf from his school uniform in his pale neck that could only be seen if you were looking close enough. But what Baz didn't realize was that Simon was always looking close enough; that for a long time he always was.

"What's bothering you now Snow? You're putting quite a damper on this fine autumn afternoon. And it's not as if this is the first time you've set fire to something." He muttered, falling back against his bed.

"But it won't be the last." Simon mumbled into his pillow, which smelled strongly of the scented siap their shared bathroom was stocked with.

"You say that as if we all weren't already aware of it."

Simon rolled even further away, (even though he ws already hanging halfway off his bed), and fought hard to hold in the tears stinging the backs of his eyes. It was all too much. How could one eleven-year-old boy be responsible for such destruction and destined for such greatness? He was still having trouble comprehending the very possibility of magic for Crowley's sake. So how was he expected to harness and master the very essence of that kind of power? The Mage was of no help of course. These first few weeks at Watford had been the hardest that Simon had ever lived through - and that's including all the countless ones he'd spent in orphanages. They were his first weeks and also likley to be his last, especially if Baz kept this up. He just didn't get it, and how could he? He didn't have the weight of two worlds resting on his shoulders. He was just an arrogant prat that he was stuck with for the next seven years. Curse the Crucible. As if Simon didn't have enough on his plate to worry about, but an obnoxious and sadistic maniac had to be thrown in the mix as well.

"Stop your moping Snow, you're giving me a migraine." Baz said, massaging his temple not because it hurt so much as to express his profound irritation.

"Easy for you to say, at least you still have one parent." Simon spat back through the tears that now fell and the sniffles that jerked his shoulders, a remark that immediately caught Baz's attention. And for a minute there Simon thought his arch nemisis might take a swing at him, but he couldn't. Not even if he wanted to, (which he really did. And if Baz could take a swing at Simon now, it would get him through Christmas for the next bloody seven years), not without risking the roomate Anathema.

Baz swallowed the spell bulging at the back of his throat and shut his eyes a moment before snapping: "Why? Is the mighty Mage not enough for you Snow?"

"He's many things, but he's not exactly parent material." He muttered, as if he had any clue as to what 'parent material' entailed.

"Teacher's pet." He scoffed as he swung himself off his bed and dug in his pocket for the last thing he would have guessed.

Simon felt something land on his bed and turned slightly to find a handkerchief lying next to him. He turned it over in his hands and recognized Baz's initials and the Pitch coat of arms embroidered in the corner almost immediately.

"You're too young for a mid-life crisis Snow," his muddy-grey eyes staring hard at Simon's watery-blue ones. "But you're sure as hell too old for blubbering like a child. So wipe those tears like a gentleman and and suck it the fuck up." Baz said before slamming the door behind him.

And from the different sides of the same room, neither boy ever would have guessed that the other, though seemingly indifferent and unfeeling, felt exactly as the other did; alone in a world where no one but their polar opposite, (and not to mention arch rival), understood them. But it would be a long time before either of them realized this - they we enemies after all. And it seemed that their last stand wasn't too far away in the near future. Sooner or later one of them had to finish the other off. But for now they were stuck with each other in hell for the next seven years with nothing but blood to bleed, curses to swear, insults to spit, tears to shed, and handkerchiefs to pass around.

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 **Whether you liked or hated this piece, please feel free to leave reviews and check out my Eleanor and Park epilogue titled Nothing Ever Ends and my crossover of Fangirl and Eleanor and Park called Crossing the Skies if you like my work:)**

 **-birdywings**


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